Breather
by Of Miracles And Men
Summary: Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and Diana finds herself among the many women so described. But when she goes to find a way to vent her fury, she finds a vitrolic friend instead, in the form of the New God Orion. And in doing so, she may find that she wants-and needs-more than friendship from him. There will be much fighting, sarcasm, and eventually, more than either expect.


**This pairing was bouncing around in my head for quite a while, and I thought long and hard, and decided to type it out. I would really appreciate some feedback on this story, so please, tell me what you think! **

* * *

It was a subtle thing, the unexpected relationship between Bruce and Zatana, but at the same time when one looked at the picture, it became startlingly clear; how they always seemed in close proximity with one another even when duties and time should have dictated otherwise, they escaped the public eye to have conversations held in private, and even share lunches together, out of the way of those who would snoop, of course, in order to dissuade rumors and gossip from either of them; although with the people they worked with, that was a ludicrous idea in itself.

The hearsay spread like wildfire, of course, there was discussions in the hallways and over lunch trays, and half-truths and assumptions provided by the people who were last knowledgeable about the subject or the people that he gossip revolved about, only adding to the flame. Eventually, it became the biggest soured of news on the Watchtower and was on the tip of every tongue, every start to a conversation, every icebreaker to an introductions, every capper to a lunch break, and it didn't look like it would receded anytime soon.

After all, no one, no one, not even those closest to him outside of the league, ever thought that _the_ Batman, the brooding, frightening dark knight of the league, he of _all_ people, who disapproved of relations I the league, that outspoken, stubborn man had found and instigated the relationship (then again, one could only trust the rumors to go so far at that point)—and, if there was a bonus to that idea (there probably was), made it with one of the most gorgeous ladies in the league.

Poor Dick. He had never found himself more popular on the Tower before, as people began to constantly pester and needle him for details, and wasn't sure if he liked it all that well, especially after Bruce made him swear not to reveal even the slightest bit of information, and, eventually, with Clark's permission, temporary retired to patrolling Blüdhaven until the whole idea that Bruce was in a relationship blew over and people got over it.

Poor Diana, who could not retreat as Dick could from the public eye, he who had learned from the master, and as Bruce and Zatanna's relationship became more prominently spoken of, so did the gossip turn to her, as her feelings toward Bruce had not exactly been subtle, and now, now they were being thrown back in her face.

"It's funny, though," Diana heard one day, as she changed to civilian clothes in the locker room on day, listening to a girl on the other side of the lockers chatter with her friend, unaware that she was on the opposite side, "Wonder Woman tries the best she can to get into Batman's pants, and he doesn't even bat an eye. But when Zatanna shows up…"

There was laughter, silver and furtive as the unknown girl's friend replied, "Well, _I've_ heard that they've known each other for years; way, way back. And besides, I guess he'd be into girls who act a little classier."

"_But not by much."_ The other voice interjected, and they light, taunting laughter resumed as they closed their locker doors and exited the room, leaving Diana with a dash of red flushed across her cheeks as if she had been slapped, frozen in place, bright blue eyes wide and hand soldered to the locker door.

And then with a sharp exhale her eyes hardened to ice and her long, slender fingers clenched, and the locker door crumpled like paper in her hand.

Disgusted by what she had heard, disgusted with the disrespect they not only spoke about herself, disgusted with the way they portrayed her, as a pesky, irritating whore, she slammed the door and watched it bounce off the frame it was meant to fit in and creak as it swung, pathetically, weakly.

After a moment of watching it swing and hearing the blood rush in her ears, torrential and violent, she turned on her heel and stormed away out the opposite exit, black glossy hair spilling over her shoulders as the door opened up with a hiss of air and she nearly bumped into the one person she had least expected to meet in her livid, raging fury, the one source of all her troubles, who paused, and watched her expression of ferocity cool into embarrassment and then become assume an awkward yet beautiful smile.

"Oh. Hello, Bruce." Diana looked up at him.

"Diana." He said, respectfully, politely, out of fellow comradeship but nothing more, while she fumbled for a topic, quickly, quickly, before he decided she was not worth her time, and avoided and shunned away the stares of those who passed the in the hallway and made their own postulations about the encounter.

"Are you going anywhere?" she asked.

"The cafeteria." He responded, and began to walk as she followed suit, matching his pace, arms swaying carefree in those comfortable civilian clothes at that place called American of Eagle, yes, an odd name, but she still did so enjoy their merchandise.

"Could you stand for some company?" she questioned him, folding her hands in front of her and inclining her head to look at him, watching as he hesitated for an audible moment that did not escape her.

"I'm sorry," she said, not feeling very sorry but maintaining etiquette, "were you planning to meet someone?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"Zatanna."

The feeling of embarrassment mingling with awkwardness from an unexpected shock is akin to have ice injected into one's veins and a burning fire in the pit of one's heart.

"A thousand pardons." She replied, biting the inside of her cheek to restrain herself from saying something that would not be wise, to which he replied, almost too quickly, as if he knew of the turmoil raging inside her, "It's fine. There's no need to apologize."

There was an awkward silence between the two of them, one that stifled and was tangible by either of them as the descended down the hall.

Diana fought for words to come that were polite, out from her mouth, words that she wanted to spit out with hatred and spite but did not wish to encounter in that moment she had with him then.

"How are you and Zatanna?"

Bruce arched an eyebrow but made no comment on hers, seeking a reply to this most unexpected question from the person he least expected.

"Fine."

The silence resumed.

"And are you finding her accommodating?" Diana forced the question between her teeth, watching as they rounded the corners, and came closer and closer to the mess hall.

"Yes." He replied. They continued down another corner, as the incline became sloped and she rubbed a temple, calling upon Hera for strength and Athena for wisdom.

"Bruce?" she asked, as they descended down the final hall.

"Yes?"

"Are you…happy with her?" she inquired, and the question that tore her apart as she spoke it.

He was silent as he considered this question, and then, as they stood before the door, she waiting for a response and he for the words, he spoke.

"If by 'happy' you mean 'better than I have been in a long time,'" he said, and he stepped towards the door as he said this, as it slid open with a breath and Diana could see a table where a young, pretty magician was waiting for her date, "Then yes."

He exchanged silent goodbyes with her and withdrew into the room, as the door slid closed with the silent sound of thunder that crashed in her ears.

* * *

She entered the training hall, full of punching bags and targets and gloves and weights and dummies to abuse and break with rage that had been denied her for the most of her journey down to the room, throwing the scarf about her neck, red like the color of blood, to the floor and walked over it, adjusting her immaculate silver bracelets as she strode to a punching bag and stood about it.

For a moment, she considered this, as she replaced the image of the bag with the countenance of a woman whom all of her anger, all of her fury, was bestowed upon, and then shot out a fist she was unaware had been balled up, and watched it ripple out into the recesses of the bag, and watched it vibrate as it swung back, shivering with the raw force.

It felt _so_ satisfying.

With another punch from her left, she watched it swing to the side, interrupted in its journey back, and then aimed a kick at it that made the chain holding it to the beam it hung from jingle, a dissonant tinkling sound.

After this, she paused, searching for breath that had left her surprisingly quickly and then resumed, hair flying about her in a tumbledown mess, paralleling the mad scramble of emotions and passions and desires that fought within, teeth bared and eyes narrowed, releasing it on the poor punching bag that had deserved no such treatment but was receiving it from her.

Each punch she threw, each blow, each kick, each shudder and shiver received in turn from the bag only goaded her further, further as she continued, further as she became unaware of her surroundings, unaware of the pain, unaware of anything save her and her exercise, and left her certainly unaware of the person who entered the room as the door to the training hall and watched for a bemused moment as she fought with her personal demons.

It was in the moment that she paused once more, looking upon the multiple indentations her fists had imprinted upon the bag, when she heard an almost unfamiliar voice say dryly through the silence, "What a rage that possesses the fairest of the league."

Bewildered, Diana turned, wiping the sweat from her brown and adjusting the jeans that were beginning to ride low on her hips, to see the least unexpected member of the multitudes of people on the roster of the league standing before her, arms crossed as he leaned on the wall, looking upon her with an almost distaste, in the posture of his body and the tone of his voice.

"Orion." She said. "I didn't notice you were there."

"No, I cannot say that you did." He replied, as he walked towards another punching bag not too far away from hers, within speaking distance, "One would say that the bloodlust for battle consumed you."

"You're one to talk." She replied, and he did not take offense at this, as he stood before a bag and then exerted the same amount of vehemence Diana did with less exertion than she, emotions unreadable underneath his helmet.

"Perhaps. But I am not propelled by rage over the petty things that you are." He replied, and he smashed a fist into the bag, causing the chains to assume an almost musical quality, as she stopped in surprise, a fist paused merely centimeters away from the leather that she had repeatedly beat her knuckles into, as she realized that not only did Orion, one of the most isolated and antisocial members of the league knew of the gossip encompassing her but was mocking her for it.

"Petty?" she asked, and she fixed a cool, tempered gaze upon him as he continued to punch and kick, "You would call my emotions and despair _petty?"_

"I would not even call it despair. I would call it the jealousy of a shrew," Orion said as the bag gasped with air and swung to the side as he retracted his fist, "one who is unable to respect the wishes of her comrade and seeks to intrude upon that which is not hers."

"Do you wish for a fight?" Diana asked, lowly, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed as she looked to him, turning her body away from the object of her anger and then to him as he turned to her, unperturbed by what he had instigated as he looked into the eyes of one of the most powerful beings on the planet.

But not one of the most powerful beings on _his_ planet.

"If you are done mewling with your self-pity, then yes." He replied.

"Hypocrite," Diana practically spat, at a loss for why he had initiated such a fight nor why he had any desire to, but did not care much as she allowed her long-lost patience to return for the moment as he walked to the end of the room and stood, waiting for her to ready herself.

"Perhaps." He replied. "But I do so in the hopes that I can on day overcome it, unlike you. Ready?"

Diana's brow twitched, but she was more than ready as she prepared herself, and assumed a position in which to fight.

"Wonderful." He replied, dryly, and she lunged forward without any provocation, a fist towards his jaw, one that he blunted the blow of with his arm and pushed it past him, to return in kind one of his own. It grazed her jaw as she dodged past it.

"You're a foul-mouthed excuse for a warrior," she retorted back with the serenity that she prayed Athena could grant her as she rocked back onto her heels and then returned to the balls of her toes, muscles coiling in her arms that sprang forward to his ribcage, forcing him to accept the brunt of her blow with a hollow grunt.

"Is that so," he replied with biting sarcasm in his voice as he shot his fist upward to her chin, forcing her to look upwards, to the fluorescent, glaring lights of the hall and then back down again, a raw numbness spreading through the entirety of her jaw.

She kicked forward and knocked rather satisfyingly into his side, making him hiss as he took a step towards her, invading her personal space as he hooked forward and gave her cause to look to her side with a sharp turn of her neck, abrupt and unexpected.

A battle cry poised on her lips, she jabbed forward only to have him feint and bob to his side in order to clock her ear, causing a faint ringing to echo in her ears and a sharp biting itch to start at the side of her head.

"Ow." She glared, teeth bared at him.

"Indeed." He replied and their fists brushed past each other and hit nothing but air, causing them both to step back to regain their bearings.

"Am I still a 'foul-mouthed excuse?'" he asked, politely, and he arched an eyebrow behind his helmet.

"Come over here if you're brave enough and we'll find out." She replied, and a long strand of that black hair spilled down over her eyes and was quickly corrected with a shake of her head.

He didn't need more encouragement, and was quickly upon her, aiming a blow at her collarbone that she managed to block, causing her to strike out with a kick to his stomach that made him groan in surprise, as she took this advantage and quickly struck back at his jaw, giving him good cause for a well-used expletive.

Orion did not waste another moment before he aimed a tightly-clenched fist forward, at her cheekbone, yet suddenly hesitated back and then returned with a powerful roundhouse to where his fist would have landed, that made her cry out in surprise and mingling pain. She stumbled in shock, a loud ringing, numbing white noise echoing in the back of her head, yet struggled to regain her bearings and kicked forward, making him step backwards; she missed him by a mile.

"How agile." He deadpanned, and it only made her more furious, as she fought through the haze of pain and numbness towards him and shot the ball of her fist forward to his chin, causing him to look down as it connected, making a loud smack and giving way for a red welt that would stay.

He struck her shoulder, lashing out, but she grabbed his arm in retribution, almost as if she were planning to wrest it from him. Orion found himself in appreciation of his arm and desired it to stay in his socket, so he resorted to pushing her forward with a harsh shove, that made the two of them tumble to the ground in a flurry of hands fumbling for air and a gasp of breath left their lungs but rudely regained as the ground rose up to meet them, hitting the full of Diana's back, the dull, throbbing pain in her back increasing as he pinned her down, not sparing her the weight of his body in an effort to be chivalrous.

There was no way or trying to shove him off by brute force, although she writhed and struggled, oh, she did, and the most she was able to do was crane her neck up, to see where and how she was pinned below him, and see exactly where her leg was, where it was nestled perfectly in between his.

Her leg swung up and he stiffened in surprise but made no further noise, save the grunt when Diana seized her chance and flipped him onto his back and reversed their positions, pinning herself above him and shoving her arm into his larynx, effectively cutting off all and any form of communication from his end.

"Are you ready to concede, Orion?" she smiled down at him, and it was a beautiful, beatific smile that even the likes of he could admire, although in the position he was caught in, it was not the most ideal at which to do so.

The most of a response was the slightest flex of his muscles as they moved, running taut, and she arched an eyebrow but could do no more before his arms twitched upwards and she found her hold over him weakened.

"Don't count on it." He replied, with the breath he could spare and then knocked his head forward, upwards, to connect with Diana's skull in a solid _thunk_ that made her see stars dance before her vision (by Hera, his helmet was something to be reckoned with!) and allowed him to throw her off his body and rise to his feet, as did she, shakily, as he did.

"I believe this places us somewhat at a tie, _Princess." _Orion mockingly used her nickname as they stood, regarding each other, him with a smirk she wished she could have wiped off his face with a slap of her hand, and she with a glare that would certainly have stunned one at its statuesque beauty and unadulterated spite.

"It does no such thing, _coward."_ She replied, brow furrowing. "You're too scared to finish what you've started."

"Am I? I believe you have prior engagements, and while I am not averse to continuing, my purpose here is done."

"And what exactly was your purpose?" Diana asked, confusion sneaking up upon her rage, blotting it out for a moment.

"Relieving your anger. A warrior can tell when his fellow has rage to vent."

Something clicked in her brain as her eyes widened in comprehension and disbelief. "You _provoked_ me…to _help_ me?"

"Better that than bringing the room upon your ears."

"You're one to talk."

"But did it not help?" he asked, and there was a smile on his face, vindicated, and although she refused to admit it, the fight actually _had_ helped, in some way, by relieving the tension better than against an unfeeling punching bag that could no better understand her than she it.

Diana did nothing more than exhale sharply through her nose and fold her arms over each other, regarding him with a steely gaze, and he chose (wisely) to continue, lest she decide to release the rest of her rage upon him.

"If I have you attention, then allow me to propose something," he said, and his voice dripped with mocking, sarcastic reverence towards her, "That in so calling a tie, you return here at the same time tomorrow, so that we may come across a definitive victor."

"A rematch?" she asked, tilting her head to the side, cocking an eyebrow as her interest was piqued, though she would not dare admit it to a provoking swine like him.

"If you desire a better way to rid yourself of your pining for your comrade, yes."

That certainly did sound promising; although she wasn't sure it would be able to wash away the sting of seeing Bruce with Zatanna, still, it would be extremely satisfying to be able to make Orion admit that she was the victor tomorrow.

"Very well." She said, smiling at him with a polite smile of bloodlust. "I look forward to it."

"As do I." he said, and she nodded to him, rage long dissipated as she went to collect her scarf, lying limply on the ground and wrapped it once more about her neck and smoothing out her hair, so that it returned to the perfect, raven-black waterfall that cascaded down her back. She smoothed out the wrinkles in her clothes from the fight, gave him one last smile, and then strode out the door as it hissed open and then hissed shut behind her, leaving Orion alone within the room with a heart still beating fast from the thrill of the fight and more.

After a moment, perfectly still as he watched her go, he reanimated to life, and then turned to continue to relieve the rest of his tension on a nearby punching bag, the dull, rhythmic thud against his hand becoming a slow, steady beat that echoed in his mind and around the empty walls of the training room, all the while unaware of the small, unexpected smile on his face.


End file.
